Fire and Smoke
by TV Centric Universe
Summary: "He should have listened, he should have cared." Warning: Character death. Based on 'Tundra'. Complete.


When Howard awoke, the first thing he noticed was the wind, violently shaking the thin walls of the tent. He huffed in annoyance as he freed an arm from the warmth of his sleeping bag. As soon as it hit the cold air, he regretted it- the tent was freezing. Unfortunately, finding the egg was more important than his numb limbs, and that meant waking Vince. The jazz-maverick reached gingerly to the adjacent bed, curiosity flitting across his features at the undisturbed covers. He was probably outside the tent, the older man reasoned, chatting up the wind.

Turning his aching head, he was surprised to find an empty space. There was nothing- not a puddle of water from melting snow, or a fibre out of place. Not a shred of evidence that Vince had even made it in. Cautiously, he sat up, peering around for anything he may have missed- a hair, a smudge of dirt- anything.

The thought of the younger man brought up memories from the last few months. Lately, the pair had been getting more aggressive, the jabs leaning closer to insults. Instead of a gentle nudge, Vince had become more forceful, constantly poking fun at Gideon's complete lack of notice. He was relentlessly calling him out on his generic features, and Howard retaliated, poking fun at his hair, clothes- anything and everything. During the day they crimped, smiled and looked generally happy. At night they sat back, drinking lukewarm tea and quietly watching 'Colobus the Crab'. There was no discussion, just the cautious reminder at the back of his mind that something was changing.

When he found Vince, he would make sure to apologise.

The silence was deafening. He was so used to being the early riser and hearing his roommates gentle snoring (which he complained about but secretly adored). Sometimes, he would just lie there on the concrete floor and listen to the animals going about their morning. It was peaceful in the keepers hut, their own private sanctuary. But with only the harsh elements to keep him company, he felt lost.

This was the tundra, not some grimy London Zoo. His sanctuary had disappeared; it was missing one very key element- Vince.

His muddled brain seemed to jolt, and almost instantly panic set deep within his bones. Not only was his best friend missing, but any trace of him was non-existent. Vince would never do this. He was practically a walking disaster. Everywhere he went, there was a trail. A cloud of hair product, a queue of candy wrappers- something. There was _always_ a sign. The one and only time the younger man had attempted to make his bed, the sound had awoken Howard. He would definitely have heard something, he assured himself.

Hastily standing up, Howard reached for the zipper of the door, missing several times in an attempt to find proper purchase on the small tab. Ripping open the entrance; he began a desperate search for any hint of his beloved sidekick. Ignoring the strong winds which whipped around him, almost blowing away the flimsy nylon structure, he trudged a few feet in near blindness. His loosely fitted coat flew open, freezing him to the core.

A flash of red caught his eye as he looked down at his feet. Underneath his heavy boots lay the knitted toque Vince had worn last night, covered in snow from when Howard had sent him out for night watch. Night watch- his brown eyes widened in realisation. He'd almost forgotten. The fight, the cold- a wave of guilt flooded his heart.

Suddenly, last night came back with startling clarity. The sounds of protest that escaped the younger man- becoming softer and more desperate as the night continued. Eventually the mod's large shouts had turned into nearly-silent whimpers, and the maverick drifted off. The only thing Howard remembered was pulling his hat further down over his ears, thinking almost cruelly about how this would teach Vince not to anger him again.

Looking back on the seemingly fair action, he shuddered with irrefutable self-hatred. How could he? Vince was his responsibility. Now he could be missing or wor- no, he wouldn't go there. He couldn't. It couldn't be that bad. Yeah, he would just show up, smiling about how the wind despised the musicians' sad existence. They probably would agree on that front. Everyone hated the 'man-of-action'. Why shouldn't they?

Vince, he was bright- almost florescent. He brought life and light everywhere he went. He was smiles and strawberry bootlaces, and Howard was the complete opposite. Where Vince was fire- warm and life giving, Howard was smoke- dark, unwanted and fleeting.

He should have listened, he should have cared.

Spinning in circles, he screamed out Vince's name, hearing his voice as it got lost in the churning wind. His heart began to race as his eyes scanned the stark horizon. His senses were overwhelmed and he became all too aware of a imminent panic attack. Amongst the swirling snowflakes, he could see a set of tracks going towards the camp, so out of place in the flat landscape. Running back towards the tent, his heart leapt into his throat. He couldn't breathe, his mind was racing, and he was falling.

Slowly his vision began to swim, and he could see the rough outline of a body, curled up and outlined in red spandex. Forcing his legs to move forward was difficult and he stumbled, tripping over his friend's furred boots. His gloved hands hit the ground hard, making him wince sympathetically.

He wished upon every shooting star that he wasn't too late. He'd wake up his animal-loving friend. Lie to him- tell him there was a sale at top shop or that a polar bear was wearing a genius tie. They'd meander back into the tent, and Howard would make them some tea- lukewarm like evenings in the keeper hut. Then they'd go and find the egg, become famous and live together in some mansion made of lava lamps, or something equally futuristic.

Vince will love that, he muttered. They'd make it through, the older man whispered to himself, as tears froze midway down his cheeks. They had too. They were a double act, they were going places. So, they had their fights, everyone did. But he would apologise, just like he promised, and everything would be okay. He and Vince would go back to being zookeeper and apprentice, mod and jazz-maverick, partners through time and space. It would turn out in the end, it had to.

The tent shielded them from the icy wind, protecting the pair from the biting cold, and creating a secluded enclave. It was warmer, but only slightly. Not enough to survive without a coat. Fortunately, he had his ski suit on, and Howard prayed to every deity that it had been enough. Crawling over to the lithe frame, he took in the pale parlour that had replaced the previously warm face. Instead of a cheeky smile, his blue lips were still, remaining in an still line.

His eyes were closed, his face as relaxed as one could be in this seemingly eternal winter. If it wasn't for the pale undertones or the rigid muscles, it would look as if he were sleeping.

In the back of his mind, his conscience was screaming, slowly coming to terms with what his heart refused to believe. With a sudden burst of urgency, the Northern man clawed frantically through the chafing suit, finding the pulse point along the still neck.

Vince was gone, and lying a few centimeters away were his last words.

"Why?"


End file.
